I am suddenly (as in, the last three days) overcome with the maddening desire to own an Airstream. It is this way with my wants: They are few and far between and when one settles itself between my shoulderblades, it must be satisfied, like a hard-to-reach itch.

….and I now want an Airstream. I figure, hell, I live in Hellabama, there’s got to be some fool within a forty-mile radius that has one of the blame things up on blocks in his side yard. I’d be willing to stake my eye teeth that there’re at least TWO. I want to find that man, saunter up his driveway and sweet-talk him into making me a real fine deal on it.

Dig it: There’s me, scuffing the toe of my boot a little in the graveldust of the drive, looking down at that toe as I do so. Then me, raising my face to him, head a little cockeyed, mouth a bit of sideways slash, nothing in the eyes to give me away because I’m wearing my favorite mirrored aviators. “Mister, I’m pretty sure that there’s a way for you’n'me both to come out satisfied. I want a trailer. You got a trailer.”

And then, you know, I’d place an index finger on the bridge of those glasses, sliding them down enough so that he could see both the sincerity and spirit in my eyes. Looking over the tops of those lenses, I’d lean in toward him a little and say with all earnestness, “I promise to love that trailer and take it fun places and pretty places and in-between places. Sometimes I’ll do it on a whim. Other times I’ll plan. But mister, I’m fair certain that trailer wants to come home with me and live a good, gooood life.” And right there maybe a little conspiratorial wink would be in order, I’m not sure. I’d have to suss out the situation as it presented itself to me.

Wouldn’t that speech work some fashion of mojo on you, oh Muffinass?

Here are my goals for the year: Take family on surprise jaunt to New York City for Christmas (reservations already made, more on this later), pay off credit cards by March (on track for this), purchase Airstream trailer because those things are riveted together with pure awesome and maybe also just a little secks0rs.

that line might work on some, but it would never work on me; as I would just as soon give up my Airstream (if I had one) as I’d give up my truck! See, thing is I spent much of my young life traveling about the US, Mexico (all the way to the Yucatan) and Canada. Including one extended US and Mexico Wally Byam Caravan trip. I have many fond memories of those days & how nice it was to be anywhere & home was right behind the truck. I could wax poetic about Airstream’s & travel, find yourself a good one & enjoy, perhaps I’ll see you out on the road…Oh yea, & if I might say so, check out a nice diesel ford truck or (used) excursion to pull it…I’m almost @ 100k on our excursion and we still love it.

Ah sheet. The people across the road back in the motherland had one. It never went anywhere. And those folks? They wouldn’t have stood a chance against your sweeet talkin. They were nice folks but were the very definition of sububan-unworldly.

I think a good name for an airstream would be Warren. You know, Warren Zevon: Werewolves of London: silver bullets…. oh, never mind.

My step grandparents had an airstream a few years back. Every winter they took a long trip down to Mexico, came back up through Texas – for the square dancing get togethers..lol – and then would swing by our house and bring us bags of oranges, pure vanilla, rugs, silver jewelry, etc. Then they made their way back up to their little trailer park in Southern Missouri. Mr. Mustang and I want to do something like that later.. What an awesome life you know?

Suzanne1.26.2009

You soooooo know you are bound to find some major Airstreams on any back road between Bama and Atl. They are so retro – love them myself!